


Shoe Antics

by ChutJeDors



Series: Ficlets [5]
Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M, rip john's shoes, warning: paul is a jerk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 15:01:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11694126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChutJeDors/pseuds/ChutJeDors
Summary: “I'm really, really sorry about your shoes,” Paul grinned and threw himself on a green, ugly sofa, next to his fellow band mate John.“What'd'ye mean by that?” John asked and accidentally dropped his plectrum inside the hole of his acoustic guitar. “Oh, bugger.”





	Shoe Antics

**Author's Note:**

> I was going through my old Nokia's notes and found this small piece. I have no memory of writing but there it was, just waiting to be cleaned up and published. So I proceeded to do just that instead of cleaning up my flat (which I'm going to do in a moment. I swear). Took me some plotting though, how to move the note from my phone onto my computer since the phone is from... 2007.... I think..... Bow down to me, since I actually managed to do just that. woooo
> 
> Just some cute little fun where Paul is an arsehole and John is way too dead inside to actually care. So actually my personality split into two characters. Cheerio people ;)

“I'm sorry about your shoes.”

“I beg you pardon?”

“I'm really, really sorry about your shoes,” Paul grinned and threw himself on a green, ugly sofa, next to his fellow band mate John.

“What'd'ye mean by that?” John asked and accidentally dropped his plectrum inside the hole of his acoustic guitar. “Oh, bugger,” he mumbled and shook the guitar a bit, both of them hearing the piece of plastic rolling around.

“What do I mean by that? I mean that I'm sorry about your shoes,” Paul's eyes shone brightly and he crossed his arms behind his neck while leaning backwards, lips still spread into a huge smile.

“But, uh,” John tried to fish his beloved object back without much success, not paying attention to their discussion. “Why are you sorry then?”

“I tripped and fell down,” Paul scratched at the base of his nose and yawned, “and my nose went straight inside your left shoe. Dear God, that _smell_!”

“And that's why you're sorry? 'Cos my feet smell? Have you ever stuck your nose inside your socks? 'Cos believe me Macca, that ain't flowers and perfume either,” John said absent-mindedly and Paul chuckled, following John with his eyes twinkling when the man tried shaking the guitar upside-down.

“No, I'm not finished yet. Though I gotta say that I'm sorry _for_ your shoes, having to carry that stink everywhere.”

“Oh, come on!” John let out a loud huff, perhaps not directing his words only to Paul but also to the plectrum that still showed no signs of life.

“So, the best part is,” now Paul started actually laughing, “is that I decided to be a nice friend for once and give them some air!”

John stopped his new mission of taking the guitar strings off to be able to put his hand inside the instrument, and looked at Paul blankly.

“...And what did you, if I may ask, actually _do_?” he asked, his tone careful.

“I hung them out of the window for a while but then I accidentally dropped them both.”

“Jesus fucking Christ Paul!!!”

“I know, it's hilarious ain't it? Now you got no shoes!” Paul sounded ridiculously happy and jumped to his feet to avoid John's angry attack with a pillow.

“Bloody go an' fetch them then!” John growled angrily and Paul chortled, his cheeks glowing with mirth.

“You think I wanna risk my life, surrender myself to those who seek my Beatle-blood, by searching some darn _shoes_? Nope, sorry, don't think so!”

“Paul! I need shoes!” John shouted and watched with despair when Paul doubled over with soundless laughter.

“Just call Brian, I don't know, I don't care!” he answered, wiping tears from his eyes, flipped his hair ridiculously (and knowing very well that it looked like that) and walked away from the hotel suite's living room, giving a wink to John before disappearing into the bedroom he shared with Ringo.

John sat down, sighed with frustration, and stared at his guitar that at this moment couldn't give him any comfort.

He returned to his task of taking off the strings, silently mourning his -by now- deceased shoes in his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr dot com](http://chut-je-dors.tumblr.com)!


End file.
